


The Inspector's Daughter

by editoress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/editoress
Summary: Adoption AU.  Javert investigates Fantine's story, makes a satisfying arrest, and finds himself the guardian of a bright, spirited little girl.  A series of drabbles of varying lengths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One day I might finish and put up the long-form fic to explain how this came about, but in the meantime, have these scenes of Cosette growing up. They are generally in chronological order.

Cosette was an expert at playing pretend.  She had done it all the time while with the Thenardiers, imagining that she lived in a fairy tale castle far away or was a lady.  She did not have to pretend so much now, with the inspector; she did not want to run away anymore.  But sometimes she still played make believe to herself.

Right now she was imagining the prettiest little story.  Cosette had not been kept by the Thenardiers, but kidnapped, and the inspector had rescued her and become her father, so he could take care of her forever.  It was not a difficult game to play, especially compared to the fantasies she had used before.  Parts of it were almost true.  Cosette just had to be careful to keep it to herself.

There was one day she slipped, though.  She did not mean to, but the inspector was so upset and she did not know what to do.  When M. Thenardier had been upset, he would start yelling and Cosette would get out of his way; but the inspector only frowned a lot and gave out sharp orders and spent most of his time thinking.  He was angry because he had not caught a criminal, but Cosette just _knew_ he would catch him.  But she also knew that she could not make the inspector see that.  So she went back to her new favorite pretend game as she stood beside where he sat at his desk.  She was so busy thinking of how pretend-Cosette might cheer up her father that she did not stop herself in time from saying, “I’m sure you’ll get him, Papa.”

It was not until a very peculiar expression crossed the inspector’s face that Cosette realized what she had said.  She hunched her shoulders and stared at the floor, panicking.  “I’m sorry, M. le inspector.  I didn’t mean to; it’s just…”

A large hand resting atop her head interrupted her.  She peered up to see that while his expression was still one she could not place, he at least did not look angry.  He just looked at her, brow furrowed but some of the hardness gone from his face.  “That’s all right, Cosette,” he said.  He smoothed her hair back a bit before returning to the paperwork in front of him.  He seemed less troubled than before.  Cosette began to believe that she no longer had to pretend at all.


	2. First Christmas

Cosette had been still for several minutes now, ever since the inspector had pulled the blasted thing from his coat pocket.  She was wide-eyed, and he could not tell whether it was from fear or awe.

“Open it,” he told her, sitting in his armchair.

The girl glanced up at him just to make sure, then began untying the twine around the package.  She was excruciatingly careful, unfolding the paper rather than tearing it.  Javert frowned.  Her shoulders did not hunch quite the way they had a year ago, when he had found her, but she still seemed slightly anxious about receiving anything more than basic necessities.  He waited out her gift-opening process until she found the small, admittedly cheap music box within.  Cosette stared up at him.  “Is it…?”

“It’s yours,” he confirmed.  “It’s a present.”

She scooped it up and cradled it, looking it over with a new wonder.  “You wind it by turning the knob,” Javert explained.  He watched her turn it over.  The box looked large and heavy in her hands.  She ate as much as one could wish any nine-year-old girl to, and yet she was still so very small.

Cosette gasped when a light, clinking melody came out of the music box, cheeks warmed by childish joy.  Javert’s mouth tightened at the corners.  “Do you—”

Suddenly the girl’s arms were wrapped around his neck.  “Thank you, it’s beautiful, Papa, _thank you_.”

The inspector could not but smile as he put his hand on her back and said, “Merry Christmas, Cosette.”


	3. Just Like You

She was entirely too proud of herself, this tiny girl who had so far been nothing but the most cooperative and obedient of children.  Cosette was so naturally reserved, too, that Javert had never thought to find her _fighting_.  He frowned tightly at her until her enthusiasm faded a bit, then turned to the boy in question.  “Can you walk?”

The boy sucked at his split lip and stood with a bounce that said he could.  “I didn’t do anything!” he began protesting immediately.  “I was just telling her the _truth_.”

Cosette’s hurt expression was telling.  “No doubt,” Javert noted in a dangerously even tone.  “Can you walk?”

The boy hesitated.  “Yes, monsieur.”

“Do so.“  The inspector nodded toward the foyer of the station.

Cosette crossed her arms and watched the boy leave.  And then she watched Javert, not entirely able to erase the remnants of pride from her expression.

"Did he strike you first?” Javert asked.

“No, he didn’t.  But he was saying that—”

“Did he,” the inspector enunciated, “strike you first?”

Cosette’s shoulders fell a bit.  “No, Papa.”  She looked up at him with wide eyes.  “But he was being cruel.  I got the bad guy!”

The ‘just like you’ was unspoken but no less prominent for that.  Javert rubbed one brow wearily.  “Being cruel is not _illegal_ , Cosette.”

The girl bowed her head.  “He said my mother was a… a whore.  And…”  But she trailed off.

Javert paused.  Then he crouched to reach her eye level.  “Your mother did work as a prostitute, Cosette.  You know that.  That is still not a reason.”  He leveled a gentle look at her.  “Hmm?  ‘And’?”

“And,” she continued quietly, “and he said I am no good either, and that you wouldn’t want to keep me.”

“You know that is not true.”

She blinked, and began to smile.  “Yes, Papa.”

The fact that his assurance made a difference, that she might have doubted at all, darkened his mood more than anything.  He would have to speak to that boy again—Chauvelin’s nephew, as he recalled.  Javert stood and guided Cosette forward with one hand on the back of her head.  His shift had ended, anyway.  “Let’s go home.”

“He should not have said those things,” Cosette declared, her confidence returned.  “Right?”

“He should not have,” the inspector agreed firmly.

“So it wasn’t that wrong to hit him?”

“Hmm,” said Javert, who found himself suspiciously biased on the matter.  This was precisely the sort of behavior that had gotten Fantine arrested—but then, Fantine had been a prostitute in Montreuil-sur-mer’s slums, not an obedient, pleasant girl with a surprising right hook.

He would figure it out.  For the moment, it was good enough that when they passed through the foyer, the boy leaned away from Cosette and did not say a single malicious word to her.


	4. Theft I

“Cosette?” Javert called.  She was not one to make off with things, but he could think of nothing else that could have happened to his wool greatcoat.  He had gotten off his shift much later than expected, and his coat was not where he had left it.  “Cosette—”

And there was his coat, on the chair.  Furthermore, there was a suspiciously Cosette-like shape within, and a few wisps of blonde hair stuck out the collar.  Javert could not bring himself to object.  It was the first time she had ever managed to fall asleep before making sure he got home.


	5. Emergency

“Will that be all, sir?” Ledoux asked dutifully.

Inspector Javert was in a curt mood today, and Ledoux had been careful not to ask too many questions.  This would be his last for the evening; the inspector was returning home with Cosette shortly, and would be back for an early shift tomorrow morning.  Javert shook his head.  “Just make _sure_ that the patrol schedule is followed to the letter.  We don’t need any more—”

From across the station came the sound of a child wailing, high and miserable. 

“Was that…?” Ledoux started to ask, but he stopped.  The inspector had turned deathly pale, and before Ledoux could so much as get up from his seat, Javert was sprinting toward the back offices.

The policeman followed cautiously at a walking pace.  The thundering footfalls of the inspector came to a halt, and the wailing softened to whimpers.  When Ledoux turned the corner, Javert had his daughter in both arms.  She was clutching the edge of her skirt to hold is just above a bloody knee.  Poor girl.  What Ledoux could see of her face was red and tear-streaked, but most of it was pressed into Javert’s coat.

“Medical supplies are in the same place, sir,” Ledoux offered quietly.  Then he went back to his desk, because it wasn’t really smart to be in the inspector’s way when his brows were quite that low.

He saw them on their way out, though he was unobtrusive about it.  Javert was still carrying Cosette, and she was still sniffling and wiping away tears.  “This is why I told you not to run through the station.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“You won’t do it again, will you?”

“Not ever.”

“Does it feel any better, petite?”

“A little.”

“Let’s get you home.  It will heal soon.”

Ledoux returned to the patrol schedule and added this to the list of things he wouldn’t have believed two years ago.


	6. Home

After almost a full day out in the field—since long before dawn this past morning, and now it was at least one o’clock the next morning—Javert finally arrived home.  He did not bother to do more than take off his coat and hat before collapsing in his chair.  He passed a hand over his face.  The myth that he never slept was beginning to come true of late.

He came awake, though, at the soft sound of footsteps.  “Cosette, you should be asleep.”

She padded to his side.  “I tried, Papa.”  He could not argue.  They had discussed this before, but it had become obvious that Cosette simply would not sleep if she knew he was not home.

“Then you should start now.”  He shifted, sitting up straighter.  “Unless you want me to read to you.”

“No, that’s all right,” she reassured him quickly.  “I can read.”  She brightened.  “I can read to _you_.”  She scampered back to her bedroom. 

Javert leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  “Pick something short, Cosette.”

He heard her come back in and climb into the chair next to his.  “I didn’t bring Beauty and the Beast.”

Javert opened one eye.  “No?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Papa, I know you don’t like it.  You sigh every time I ask you to read it.”  He likely did.  He loathed that particular fairy tale.  She opened the book she had.  “This is Rosanella.  Once upon a time, the Queen of the Fairies died.  The fairies wanted to elect a new one, but they could not decide between two of their number: Surcantine and Paridamie.”

“They would have had much fewer problems had they named a successor,” Javert noted dryly.

“That’s not how the story goes,” Cosette protested.  Javert smirked toothily.  “Papa!”

“I’m sorry, petite.  Go on.” 

Javert let her read about the contest between Surcantine, who promised to raise a completely inconstant prince, and Paridamie, who vowed to raise a princess with whom none could avoid falling in love.  Before she could start the part of the story involving Princess Rosanella, he held up a hand. Cosette fell silent immediately.  “It is time for both of us to go to sleep.”

“Yes, Papa.”  She closed the book and stood, blinking blearily.

Javert stood as well, stretching already-stiff limbs, and put a guiding hand on the back of Cosette’s head as he had done when she was much smaller.  “To bed, Cosette.”

She trudged along beside him, every shuffling step betraying how tired she was.  Perhaps in the future he should not come home so late, at least not until she was able to sleep without him around.  He watched her put the book away and climb into bed.  She looked half asleep already.  “Goodnight, petite.”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

Javert doubted he appeared any more alert than Cosette had as he made his way down the hall to his own room.  But at least he _was_ home.  There had been a time when it had been only a place to sleep between shifts.  Now his last thought before falling asleep was how he could best arrange to get home sooner tomorrow.


	7. Theft II

Eventually, even Javert was forced to admit that the wool greatcoat was beyond saving.  It had been worn to uselessness by his winters upon winters of work.  He had already purchased a new coat and set aside the old one to be disposed of.  However, now the coat rack held only the new purchase.  Javert silently considered the sight.  A soft scraping noise sounded behind him.  He waited for it to stop before saying, “Cosette, it has to go.”

Sure enough, when he turned around, Cosette stood in the middle of the hall, standing as tall as her petite thirteen-year-old frame would allow.  She was almost entirely swallowed by his ragged old greatcoat, which dragged the floor.  “There’s no reason to get rid of it, Papa,” she said sagely.


	8. Birthday

“No, Papa, don’t come in yet!”

Javert stood, ragged and sleep deprived, on his own chilly, rain-soaked front step, being refused entrance by a very earnest teenage girl.  “Cosette.  Now is not the time.”

”It’s not ready!” she insisted.

“ _What’s_ not ready?” he thundered.

She was about to reply when an odd look crossed her face, and she started.  “Oh!”  She dashed away from the door.  “Oh, no!”

Javert took advantage of the distraction to stomp into the front hall.  Now that he was inside, he could smell something burning—and hear Cosette fretting over it.  Concern overrode the need to sit down, and he half-jogged to the kitchen.  “Cosette?”

Nothing was on fire, exactly.  Whatever Cosette was placing on the table certainly hadn’t fared well, though, and the entire room reeked of smoke.  “Sorry, Papa!” she exclaimed as she tried to put everything in order.  “I got one batch, but this one is…”  She wrinkled her nose at it.

Now that she said so, Javert noticed a plate of cookies on the table.  “What on earth is this?  Where is Madame Blanchet?”  He had hired a woman to take care of this sort of thing—well, specifically to take care of Cosette while he was away, though that was less necessary now that she was older.

Cosette offered up the plate of cookies that had survived.  “ _I_ wanted to bake them,” she informed him, “since they are for your birthday.”

Javert narrowed his eyes at the pastries.  “What?”

The girl sighed, fixing him with a patient expression that he had probably used on her more than once.  “Papa.  You didn’t forget?”

Damn.  It was his birthday.  The inspector rubbed wearily at his forehead.  “I—”

“Don’t worry,” Cosette assured him.  “You go sit down.  I have everything ready.“  She followed him out of the kitchen with the cookies balanced on one hand and a tea tray on the other hip.

Javert had missed, forgotten, and worked through many birthdays in his time.  In fact, he could not be entirely sure that the day he used to mark his age actually _was_ his birthday, as it had been a very long time since he had spoken to anyone who knew for certain.  And now, he thought as his daughter determinedly set up for a small celebration, he was never going to be allowed to miss one again.


	9. Protection

They had barely entered the square when Cosette stopped suddenly, clinging to Javert’s coat and pressing herself into his side in a way she had not done since she was small.  Javert had noticed a few potential troublemakers across the way, but Cosette’s frightened stare made him examine them more closely.  It did not take long to recognize them.

“Papa…” Cosette began.

Javert looked down at her.  “What have I told you about the Thenardiers, Cosette?” he asked.

“That you would not let them hurt me,” she answered.

He did not believe was precisely what he had said—but he had not had to reassure her about this for some years, and that may as well have been what he had said.  “Correct.”  He spotted an on-duty officer and subtly got the man’s attention.  The Thenardiers appeared to have gathered a gang, most of whom were working the far corner of the square.  Thenardier himself was catching the attention of passersby—some sort of diversion?  No, he realized as money changed hands: more scams.  And there—that was the daughter, talking to a student.  They would be arrested _today_.   “Stay here, where Lieutenant Brodeur can see you.”

Cosette obeyed, taking a couple of steps back so that she was out of sight of the Thenardiers.  Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her shoulders hunched; already she was a picture of her younger self, when Javert had first met the girl, trailing apprehensively along with the loud, grating criminals.  Javert leveled a serious look at her.  “Trust me, petite.”

She met his eyes and nodded slowly, straightening.  “Yes, Papa.”

Javert gave her a slight, encouraging smile.  Then he was the inspector, all business.  This time, the Thenardiers would stay in prison.


	10. Theft III

“My hat, please.”

Cosette took the hat from the rack and promptly placed it on her own head, holding up the front of the brim to keep it from falling over her eyes.

“My hat, petite.”

She smiled winningly at him and allowed him to take it from her.  Javert frowned theatrically.  “What a disgrace for an inspector to have a thief for a daughter!”

She only laughed.  “Goodbye, Papa!”


End file.
